::Let Me Clear My Throat::

I am So. Frackin'. HAPPY! Just being able to truthfully say that is a huge deal for me, but seriously.  It's like I got a dump tank worth of happy just dropped in my lap overnight and I opened it and it exploded on me.  Holy crap...I'm lightheaded. 2012 was not exactly a banner year for me. Granted, it had it's ups, so I'm not knocking anything, but as for the personal stuff, yeah, not so awesome.  I spent most of it with a painted on smile, but inside I was pretty much crushed all the time.  I was crazy lonely, and the outlook on my love life was pretty grim. I wrote it here so many times that I got sick of saying it and wishing for it to change, and after a while the wishing just stopped.  Of course, that's when the all encompassing Universe decided to drop off a li'l sumn sumn, just when I wasn't looking for it.   I'm not gonna go into crazy, drawn out detail, cuz I kinda just want that stuff for myself for now, and if things don't

So my faithful reader and close friend Ms. Berry asked that I follow up my incarceration experience with a blog describing my stay.  I kicked the idea around for a bit, wondering how, exactly, I could encompass the magnitude of that sort of thing and put it into words that make sense and do it justice.  Then I realized that in itself is completely fucking impossible; this shit is gonna be as watered down as a drink in a downtown club.   In order for me to give you even a semblance of an idea of what it was like, I'd have to throw a Thesaurus' worth of adjectives at you.  It's sad to say that prison is preferable to the County lockup, but that's as real as it gets. What is it like?  Loud, routine, dirty, lonely, bizarre, smelly, boring, demeaning, annoying, claustrophobic, scary, enlightening, and a hideous blow to my fashion senses (I realize now that dusty blue is just NOT in my color wheel). It's one of those things that all the adjectives in the world couldn&#

Well, kinda... Dear Abby decided to answer my plea for advice...even tho I completely forgot I asked for it. Daughter Must Zip Her Lips With Mother Who Opens Hers By  Abigail Van Buren  |  Dear Abby  –  Wed, Dec 5, 2012 Email Share 1 Print DEAR ABBY : When I was an adolescent, my father molested me. It took me 20 years to finally confide this secret to my mother. Afterward it felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. That feeling lasted about two minutes. That's how long it took for her to get on the phone and spread the news to everyone she could think of. This was two years ago and, after repeatedly asking her to stop, she continues to tell. Two days ago, I caught her spilling the beans to an acquaintance she hadn't spoken to in more than a decade. We got into a heated argument, and she told me she will say what she wants, whenever she wants, to whomever she wants. My feelings are  not  considered, even though I w

Because it would feel a hell of a lot better than the pain of saying goodbye to my kids yet again.  I'd take broken bones with a smile if I could trade. Tomorrow, once again, I will be at the mercy of the Cook County judicial system.  This time, however, I have no idea how long they plan to keep me.  I will be walking in having no clue when I will walk back out.  The agony of this lack of knowledge is indescribable. Anytime before this, it was easier to swallow.  The kids could mark the days, and were able to prepare ahead of time.  Tonight I had to watch my daughter cry because she was afraid I wouldn't be home for her birthday or Christmas, and listen to my son plead with me to not go at all, even though he knows I have no choice.  Let me tell you, there is nothing... NOTHING more heart shredding than hearing this from them and having no definitive answer to appease them with.  I would rather peel my own fucking skin off. The biggest ass kickier in this whole ordeal?  The

I remember my decision to not blog for a while.  As it happens, I have had too much wine tonight and frankly I don't give a shit about anything right now, so inhibitions be damned. I'll probably have mixed feelings tomorrow, but lets be real: I CONSTANTLY have mixed feelings about something.   Back to the wine. So, yeah..I never actually drink by myself, but with the shitstorm I'm caught up in these days, it was either get fucking drunk alone or stab the first person who stands in my way. Hurricane Sandy ain't got shit on this girl right now. I'm..tired. I'm tired of drama, tired of issues, tired of failing.  As soon as I crawl out of a hole and find the light, the ground beneath me gives way and I'm right back where I started. In the dark. Clawing my way back out. AGAIN. Unless you've actually been in this position, you couldn't imagine how fucking exhausting this is, and no amount of positive thinking or changes in scenery are enough to alleviate

I've decided that I'm not gonna blog anymore-at least not for a while. I have mixed feelings about having the contents of my twisted mind on public display, and the so-called 'catharsis' blogging is supposed to bring doesn't keep the demons at bay for long.  There's alot going on inside me right now, and part of me wants to leave it in a puddle on these pages, but then the rest asks 'why bother?' because I know it won't make me feel any better, and the issues will still be there when I hit 'Publish'.  Truth be told, most of what I'm dealing with is already weaved thru this blog, but I've just said it so many times that I'm tired of addressing it.  I'm sort of over myself at this point.  Curling into a ball and shutting out the world just seems like a more attractive option to me now, so that's where I'll be. TTFN.

Sometimes I sit back and examine my life, and I wonder if I just royally fucked up somewhere, or if I truly was just handed a raw fucking deal.  Call me pessimistic, but I think I'll go with the latter. Nothing is ever simple.  Everything has to be tangled and backwards and complicated. I'm always getting buried, and no matter how many times I attempt to crawl out of that hole, something else comes along and kicks me back in.  Again, I try, and again, I fail. Epically. Miserably.  I feel like I'm stuck on a hamster wheel...running and running but never actually getting anywhere.

: Before I begin, I would like to state for the record that since my last post, my celibacy remains intact, despite the night that Flaco spent in my bed last week.  I am that damn awesome, and I will absolutely take that cookie, thankyouverymuch.: Tonight's entry is brought to you by the word "Troubled", and also by the phrase "Melancholy Bitch Slap".  Follow along if you dare. I am...utterly confused.  I don't know how else to word it.  I just don't understand.  Allow me to gloss over a few details to make this jibber-jabbering mess look like English. There's a boy, called "D".  A small piece of this is about him in particular, but mostly about boys in general when it comes to me.  D and I met through a friend over a year ago, but I never had a lot of interest, so we didn't talk much. Two weeks ago he texted me out of the clear blue after months of not talking, and immediately we clicked like a couple of magnets. We talked non stop

Y'all are gonna read this and think I have gone completely off the reservation.  Hell, I think the same thing, so you'll be in good company. I watched something earlier that gave me a slice of inspiration.  I've been writing alot about how I'm hoping to find love, for real this time, and not just the guy who wants to get me naked and go home. It's so damaging, and my ego has been shot to hell enough already.  So, I'm considering...(deep breath, don't laugh...) celibacy. By definition: cel·i·ba·cy   n. 1. Abstinence from sexual intercourse, especially by reason of religious vows. 2. The condition of being unmarried.   There aren't words to describe how foreign this concept is to me.  I don't even really know where to begin other than to just...not.  That in itself is crazy.  I am the embodiment of a sexual person; I'm comfortable with it, I like it, and I like that I am open minded enough to be as adventurous as I am.  I'm smart enough

People around me are gonna start needing protective gear, cuz my bomb clock is tick tick ticking. As hard as I'm trying to stay cool and collected, my golden, bucolic self seems to be in a constant state of rumble.  To ask why would only bring a barrage of frenzied answers, so I'm gonna try to break it all down and maybe then it will make sense to everyone, including myself.   I don't seem to be able to escape being everyone's go-to girl when they want something.  Whether it's money, sex, attention, time, rides, advice, this or that task, favors...someone always seems to have a hand stretched out, palm up, with a horrible case of the "gimmies".  I am feeling cornered and suffocated with something or someone constantly on top of me. Not only am I being suffocated, but then at the end of the day after I've been raided, there's nothing left for me but an empty fucking bag.  I know life's unfair but damn, I should be getting at least a littl

A few months back I took a break from my usual angst and wrote a short blurb on a fast rising band I was into.  Since then I decided that they needed something a little...'wordier' (and if you're a regular reader, you know Wordy is my middle name).  I knew that one paragraph wasn't enough to encompass the wonder that is Ceasefire.   If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you've definitely heard me yelling about these guys more than once, and for good reason.  Let me drop a little musical science on you with a quick bio: Ceasefire was formed in Orange County, California in 2011, spawned from the beautiful minds of brothers Kamren and Ray Alexander, and made whole by Anthony Hainsworth: Drummer Extraordinaire, and Bass Master Flash Brandon Franklin.  Together with their Rockstar manager, Gabe, the guys create magic and make it look effortless.   I consider myself an avid music fan with a pretty eclectic palate, and I can still say I don't think I've h

I want to be torn up and tattered Shattered, Blindsided...Hard to find the outside, the inside... Script completely flipped. Lost.... Down the rabbit hole into a world unknown Mind..BLOWN. Wanna touch unknown places..faces.. Uncharted territory...a Utopian dream Love story. -Me, August 2012

What's the word I'm looking for...melancholy?  No, that's not it. Itchy and unsatisfied?  Eh, getting warmer. Oh wait, I got it! SOLD!   Ok, you're probably scratching your head wondering if I'm mixing my meds again today (I wish I was) with a big WTF dancing a jig over your head. Well this little light o' mine, I'm gonna let it shine, so sit back and take notes.   A year ago I thought had it all figured out.  I rose from the dirt, dusted my ass off, and hauled it into school, knowing I would walk out 9 months later with a well respected career.  It wasn't my first choice; hell, it wasn't even my third or fourth.  Truth be told, I wasn't really remotely interested in getting into healthcare at all-It just never twirled my beanie-yeah, people have to be healthy, but I was more interested in making them pretty. Unfortunately beauty school doesn't hand over many job guarantees, so I did the responsible thing. Three months in, and I feel

One of the things I question the most in life is how a person can neglect their own children.  I personally can't fathom the idea of knowing my flesh and blood is running around the planet and having little or nothing to do with them. It makes no sense. This is especially agonizing when you have to witness this happening to your own child, and nothing you say or do changes the fact that the BabyDaddy is a self serving douchebag.   The worst thing in my world is seeing one of my kids unhappy and not being able to fix it for them.  That's a mom's job, to fix the broken things.  What do you do when the broken thing is the dad, and all you want to do is break him more because he's hurting your baby?  I've always been a Momma Grizzly, but this...this takes it to a whole new level. BabyDaddy, as I've told you, is soon to be divorced.  For the last 7 months, however, Mr. "I don't cheat" has been getting it on with an old friend of his...a very MARRIED  

I am crumbling to bits as I type. I'm beyond exhausted, stretched to every limit imaginable, and completely physically, mentally and emotionally wrung out. I have a big steaming pile of stress on my plate staring me in the face, and I just can't take the pressure anymore. I'm facing things that I don't even care to blog about because it just makes them more real, and I've had it up to here with real life. I've been too busy trying to play Positive Patty, doing everything I can to stay upbeat and keep on truckin', as they say, not wanting to look weak or put any of my issues on anyone else. I've done this for so long that I'm wiped out. I can't always be the strong one, the rock. Sometimes I need someone to be that for me.. When life starts to spin out of control someone to step in and hit the stop button so I can get my bearings and take a breath and stop feeling like I'm always drowning. But I don't have that so I have no choice but to

Stop the presses- Ms. Jaded is confounded by a boy! I know, shocker! But this isn't my normal type of confusion; this is something wholly...other. So there's a boy...we'll call him The German. We happen to be employed together, and tho I find him to be nice and funny and cute and a pleasurable enough pain in my ass, (oh, wait..) I don't believe I have any real romantic interest in him..i don't think. But here's where the confusion rears it's ugly head: I think my body and my head are having a communication breakdown, Led Zeppelin style. Whenever he's within 3 feet of me, which is often because we're either working together or he's throwing things at me, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end and my pulse races like FloJo. (I actually checked!) I've never had such a visceral, tangible reaction to someone like that who I wasn't already crazy over. It's like this weird phenomenon taking over my body. I even get flushed and tong

Ladies and Gents, the shackles have finally broken. I ran into The Ex a couple of days ago and felt….well, not much actually.  There was no painful inner monologue, no longing, no wistful glances or what-might-have-beens.  There was no sadness or anger, nor was I overly excited.  There was nothing but cool… …Ok, there was a giggle that kept threatening to creep up my throat and out of my mouth, but like I said, I was too cool.  Cucumbers and King Kong ain’t got nothin’ on me. The rose colored glasses disintegrated and now that I see him in full HD IMAX, I wonder what the fuck I was thinking for 6 gotdamn years.  Standing before me was a big pile of steaming garbage, so why, exactly, did I grovel at his feet for so long crying and sweating, begging him to love me? Uuuh, EW ! He is still the same loser he was the day I picked him up in a diner, minus the $100 a day cocaine habit.  He doesn’t seem to have the motivation to grow up and seems content to sponge off the government,

  Your call today came as a great surprise to me, being that we haven’t spoken in more than three months.  I would be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking of you lately; You cross my mind in passing quite often, and I’ve wondered how life has been treating you and how you’ve been adjusting to all the changes.  It was nice to hear that not much has changed for you. Yes, I said "nice".  It means I am not missing much afterall.  I don't wallow in your misery, but as far as the “healing process” goes, nothing helps more than knowing your ex is still scraping the bottom, just as you were when we broke up.  I have come far, and you…haven’t.  Please, don’t think me bitter, because I’m not.  The good person in me truly wants better for you, to know that you’ve turned your life around and become an upstanding citizen.  The scorned woman you left behind, however, is dancing in her panties knowing that you haven’t changed shit since we split, and that the dumb girl you’re ‘sooo

I make it a point-everyday-to count my blessings. I am thankful that my kids are happy and healthy and that we have a close relationship. I'm thankful for the fact that I am in a better position now than I was at this time last year, and that I have made huge strides in improving my life, and did it on my own. A day does not go by that these things don't cross my mind, especially when I feel the urge to complain. That being said, I've made a huge effort to not post any negative, whiny entries complaining about my sucky life, like I've been known to do in the past. I've been pretty successful in that, but it's hard to live all shiny happy rainbow sunshine when you still have lingering clouds. :Quick translation: Despite the "good things", I still feel uncomfortable, discontent, unfufilled, and frankly, mildly unhappy. And despite all the strides I'm making for the greater good, it feels like these clouds just seem to get larger every day. I've

I need a recharge. To say that I have been 'unlucky in love' is like calling a plane crash 'unfortunate'.  I should be declared a disaster area, complete with the yellow tape and American Red Cross standing by.   Two weeks ago, I was an overjoyed, ecstatic ball of happy, so much so that I was shooting rainbows and sunshine out of my eyeballs.  Out of  nowhere, an old acquaintance came barging into my life and swept me off my feet like he was Cary Fucking Grant.  My whole world flipped and tumbled upside down in the most delicious way possible.  It was the last piece of my long disassembled puzzle, finally falling into place, and I fell right into the hype, not even thinking, just enjoying the fireworks.   But alas, we're talking about ME here... the universe doth giveth, and Baby Mama Drama taketh away just a few days later.  No surprise here. Needless to say, having the rug pulled from under me, again, was not a pleasant feeling.  Having that itty bitt

CLICK HERE  <----- Psst...Hey- see that link?  Yeah that one.  Click it and prepare to fall in love.  You can also click that little music box to the right and it will take you to the same place. You're welcome. :)

With a fresh coat of paint also comes a much needed fresh start. Tomorrow is the jump start of me being back in the world on my own two legs. This has been a long, intense year, and being back on my own has been a long time coming. I've lost count of how many times I've wished for this, and now it's finally in front of me. I think I might have an anxiety attack. I literally can't get out of this town and this situation quick enough. This town feels like a prison to me now, and I can't wait to bust through the other side and taste that freedom, to run to it and never glance back over my shoulder at what I'm finally able to leave behind. I can leave all the bad memories and vibes and reminders right here, and I finally get to start over, clean slate. I can't think of a greater reward than that.

  Yesterday, through the wonders of social media, I stumbled upon the "wonderful news" I have been dreading for the past 9 months.  I was left with a sick feeling in my gut and a sort of weird numbness for the rest of the day, not really sure what my reaction to the news was.  I went on autopilot, and I think I even mumbled out a half-hearted congratulatory email to the new dad.  My brain was in a complete fog. Now that the news has really sunk in, the fog is gone and I have that caved in, kicked in the chest feeling that is far too familiar for my liking.  Logically speaking, yes, I knew this was an impending doom and have had nearly a year to get used to the idea, but it was never "real"...now it is.  There is no avoiding it now, or pretending it's not happening, and that in itself is gut wrenching.  I have to force myself to not think about it, not wonder about his reaction upon seeing his little boy for the first time and then naturally comparing it to

It's crazy how one day I can be waxing philosophical about karma and anger and how much better life has gotten, and the next day, all that luck seems to crumble and I'm left feeling violently homicidal. It seems to be just my luck that when I take two steps forward, I get knocked back at least three, like some Higher Power is determined to keep me in my predetermined "place".  Did I inadvertently piss someone off in this life or another?  Because I can't for the life of me figure out why I have to claw my way out of a hole everytime I turn around.  It's exhausting and damn frustrating. Whatever transgressions I've committed in whatever life, I truly feel as if my repentance has been paid, and then some.  Given that, why the hell am I still getting bombs dropped on me just as I'm starting to get ahead?  Can a girl ever just catch a break and be able to gain some footing, or am I destined to go through life always watching my step?

Ah, Karma. It's a word that seems to be thrown around a lot, most often used loosely to describe common bad luck; "Oh man, a flat tire, I must have lousy karma.." No, you probably were just too dumb to check the tread on your tire- that's not karma, it's neglect.  But I digress.  Karma, by it's simplest definition, is the Universe's way of giving you back everything you put into it, which is to say can be good or bad.  It's the Golden Rule on the largest scale imaginable.  I, personally, have a deep rooted belief in this system, and try to be conscious of everything I do in life, knowing in the back of my mind that sooner or later, it would come back to me in some form.  Being human, of course I've slipped up.  I've been cruel, I've made huge mistakes, I've been selfish and self-centered.  And I believe that I've paid dearly for all of this--you can see it for yourself in my early posts.  I was a fuck up for a long time, and Karma

: contented sigh : I'm seeing a pattern. Last night was another lovely night with Flaco. We lounged in my bed, all comfy cozy like, watching The Notebook (HIS request~ whaaa?!) and talking about life, love, and parenthood. My yummy smelling rose candle flickered softly on the dresser, and my iPod shuffled thru the most perfect tunes, somehow finding the ones that fit the mood just right. Our conversation flowed seamlessly and naturally, as did his fingers as he absentmindedly stroked my hair. With all this in mind, it sounds very anti climactic to refer to it as "nice", but that's exactly what it was. Nice...easy....peaceful. And I felt more content than I have in a very long time. I'm noticing how comfortable I'm becoming, spending time with Flaco. Being with him doesn't stir up any romance novel-style feelings in me; I don't find myself doodling his name on my folders or picturing some amazing future with him, but I am enjoying our time together

::sigh::   I'm having another 'I miss The Ex' episode today.   It's not as impossible-feeling as the last one, when it felt like  if I didn't see him I would tear my skin off, but it's making me anxious nonetheless. I've been thinking about him lately, more so than usual.  Sometimes the strangest things become a trigger, and he's taking up every last corner of my mind-it's an odd sensation.  Last night it was a quote from a movie...I was plugging along just fine, not a care in the world, in a happy mood, and BAM!   It was waterworks, like someone reached inside me and opened the tap. It's going on two years now, and just when I think I have it licked, I get blindsided with one more lashing and my progress goes back two steps.  I wonder how long this is supposed to last.   I decided today that I would just drop over at his house and pay him a visit.  I never wanted to do this before and I told him so, but he always stressed how I was always w

Flaco: (FLAH-ko) n., adj. Spanish slang for "skinny".  See also: Ms. Jaded's Weakness Ah, Flaco.  Allow me to give you some backstory:   Flaco*, who is a real person and not just a conglomeration of many, nor a figment of my very vivid imagination, is a longtime friend of mine. (tho I suppose it's a loose interpretation of "friend", but I digress)  When I met him through my neighbor back in 2005, I was knocked nearly breathless with his sexy, dimpled grin.  The instant I met him, I sized him up: I saw this very well groomed, charming, charismatic, muscled up, confident guy who was so fine he made me sweat. (He's a carpenter, y'all..mmm)  Immediately I deduced that this guy must have a stable of chicks in the cut, one for every day (and night) of the week.  He had to be a typical playboy, running around busting up hearts left and right, with women just sweating him.  He must have a babymama, and the drama that goes with it.  Most importantly, he i

There are only so many times in life that you can cry about being broke before you just get sick to death of the words. I have reached that point. I'm tired of missed opportunities only missed because of my empty pockets. I'm sick of choosing between feeding my self and my kids and putting gas in my car. In a week I manage to go thru a grand, and that's just for bills and car repairs. Then I'm right back to where I started. To day its depressing is a gross understatement. I know with going to school I'm working towards the greater good, but that doesn't make me feel better now, nor does it fatten my pockets at all. After a while, you just want a break from living by the skin of your teeth.

I've never made secret the fact that I am a rubenesque woman. Tho I'm not exactly proud of all this extra phatness, I'm generally comfortable in my own skin, and seem to do okay with the opposite (and sometimes same) sex.  Or so I thought. You may remember, oh, about a dozen posts or so I talked about men and how they relate to me as a bigger woman.  I mentioned that men tend to think just because you're big, automatically that makes you desperate, and in turn, easy. Yes, some men need to be educated...and maybe hit with a blunt object, but that's niether here nor there.  Anyway, so I've noticed that I've run into a problem. I have no problems attracting men. They flock to me, in fact. The problem lies in the fact that I seem to be good enough to sleep with, but not good enough to actually date .  That, in itself, is kind of a mindfuck if you think about it-'Ok, so you find me attractive, you think I'm awesome as a person, you text me 100 times a d